(no subject)
To lose one's control.
To lose -- everything --
Nightmare. Nightmare. Cannot imagine, cannot comprehend --
The chill terror of it devours my spirit.
He is right. It is better that none of them know. That none of them discover such a thing possible.
I wish I did not.
The last few weeks have been exhausting (the last few days, in particular). It should come as no real surprise then that Magneto is exhausted, and, in typical fashion, inclined to pretend otherwise, regardless of the fact that no amount of poise is going to hide the circles under his eyes or the pallor of his skin. He does not look healthy, standing in the infirmary with arms folded, and his glare directed absently after an unoccupied bunk. But /he/ is not the problem.
Raven is the problem. She stands behind Erik, expression smoothly blank as she watches straight ahead with a stiff, straight posture.
Ellen may or may not be the solution, but she is, at least, arrived: long legs carrying her at a hurried stride from the lower level, hair bound in a loose tail from which it threatens to escape. She straightens the crisp lines of the labcoat as she lifts her gaze and lets it rake inquiry over her master and apparently her prospective patient.
Erik looks up at the sound of approaching footfalls, Ellen's pace familiar enough that his gaze is expectant before she rounds the entrance. And once she has, the door closes behind her - well-oiled hinges hardly making a sound, though magnetism's force is briefly audible humming through the steel. "Ms. Dramstadt."
Raven does not move, nor does she lift her head to regard Ellen. There's only the brief shifting of her eyes to take in the other woman, the slight adjustment of shoulders as she pulls in a deep breath.
Ellen's glance flicks briefly to the side, catching the closed door out of the corner of her eye, before it slips back again. "Sir." The pale eyes, leeched more grey than blue in the sterile infirmary light, settle upon Raven for brief study; her brows lift slightly. Courtesy guarded and as blank as her expression, she adds, "Ma'am." She lifts a questioning hand. "My services are required?"
Erik chuckles, a tired echo of Ellen's, "Ma'am," murmered to himself as if it's somehow amusing. He manages to filter this out fairly quickly, fortunately, and clears his throat, brows knit back into seriousness. "Mmm. This is one of those things that is going to remain between the three of us."
Raven shifts then, a sharply curious glance to Erik that sends chin-length hair swinging forward to shadow her face.
Ellen cocks her head, curiosity awakening in a sharp sweep of her gaze over Raven and Erik both. "You can rely on my discretion, sir," she is quick to assure, words crisp and even.
"This is Mystique, and has been Mystique for the last..." Erik pauses to arch a brow, "...three days. I would like you to see if you can identify anything unusual that could be the cause."
Raven pulls her head up and her posture straight, gaze set firmly ahead in silence as Erik explains.
Ellen's expression again blanks, this time with surprise. She turns a sharp stare on Mystique -- on Raven -- and bridges the distance between them on slow, measured steps. In silence, she lifts a hand to rest her fingers lightly against the other woman's cheek.
Erik takes a slow step in the opposite direction, glare already wandering blandly away, to the stainless steel of the counter surface. Non-prying, non-interfering.
Raven does not flinch at Ellen's touch. To her credit, she barely moves, simply drawing in a steadying breath and pressing her hand against the denim-clad curve of her hip while Ellen begins to work.
The pale eyes flicker closed and the scan is slow: Ellen prowls amidst Raven's cells, hunting for signs of abnormality. After a long silence, she speaks: "Mystique ... are you familiar with the mechanism that allows your mutation to function?"
Raven's eyes narrow fast at the sound of her name, but she does not otherwise respond to it. Instead she says evenly, "I simply do it." Her voice softens into something terribly and quiet. "Or not."
Erik traces a hand over the smooth steel, listening far more closely than he appears to be when he lifts it a moment later to examine the pads of his fingers. Clean.
"I cannot detect anything immediately wrong with your body on a surface level. You are perfectly healthy," Ellen says, the words fired in a quick clip. "With your permission, an experiment?"
Raven's voice is tight as she replies. "Please."
Erik sniffs at his fingers, testing, perhaps, for traces of some sort of kitchen cleaner, or...oh. The word 'experiment' sinks in, and he half-turns back towards the women with lifted brows. "What sort of experiment?"
Ellen takes Raven's left hand in her own, her right hand still balanced on the curve of her cheek. Closing her eyes again, she focuses the weight and strength of her power on a patch of skin on the back of Raven's hand while she twines their fingers together and presses tight. Before she does anything else, she speaks. "I wish to attempt to forcibly revert her skin to its natural state, sir."
Raven does not bother to wait for Erik's reply. Her own is stiff and forceful as her fingers close around Ellen's. "Do it."
"Hold on." Erik's voice overrides Mystique's, low, even, and not particularly quiet. There is generally no mistaking it for anything other than a direct order. The cabinet is forgotten, and already, he's moving back for the pair.
Ellen goes quite still, but for the opening of her eyes. Silent, she waits.
Raven does not wait. Her fingers tighten in Ellen's while dark eyes blaze up at Erik in silent, angry question.
Raven's glare is met with steel and ice - the stubborn set of Erik's jaw as forceful as it ever is, even if a tremendous lack of sleep has rendered him rather un-imposing overall. "Fine." He states finally, heavily, glare sliding hard over to meet Ellen's gaze. "Carry on. You have my number, should anything go terribly wrong." And off he starts for the door.
Ellen follows him with her glance for a moment and then turns her whole attention to the selected patch of skin on the back of Raven's hand. With intense concentration, she orders the cells in question to revert.
Raven's eyes track Erik's exit with rising emotion, and her voice hinges on something nearly desperate as she repeats, "Do it." As Ellen orders, cells obey, an altogether foreign/familiar feeling on Mystique's part. Her breath rushes out in a disbelieving stream.
Erik is not paying attention. The sound of the door slamming heavily after him marks his exit. A few bits of cement and plaster drizzle down onto the floor from the ceiling.
Ellen opens her eyes and examines the blue patch on the back of Raven's hand, checking visually what her mutation has already informed her of. She says, "Hmm." Then she turns, a worried look shot over her shoulder at the door.
Raven's eyes whip down to stare at her hand with wide, wide eyes. "It worked." Erik and his door slamming are not ignored so much as entirely unnoticed. Her attention is fixed on the single blue patch of her hand.
"Yes," Ellen says, distracted and frowning. Then she turns to look back at Raven again. "Ah ... you still find yourself unable to shift?"
Raven falls silent for a moment's concentration. The blue patch remains. Her expression remains even, her voice once again controlled rather than desperate, and she nods tightly. "Yes."
Ellen is visibly puzzled. "Your mutation is still functional. Your body is healthy."
Raven considers this for the span of a long minute. "My mutation is still functional," she repeats softly. Barely audible. "Something has severed my control."
Ellen swallows. The twitch of her spine is not entirely voluntary. "It would seem so."
Raven lifts her hand to Ellen. Her voice is extremely tight, reluctant, as she requests, "Change it back."
Silent -- wordless -- Ellen lets her eyes close again and does so.
Raven pulls her hand away and slides it deep into a jeans pocket. She watches Ellen in silence, and eventually asks, "There is no physical reason I cannot morph?"
Ellen steps back: one pace. Two. Her hands drop to her sides. "None."
"None." Mystique echoes the word silently and then nods. Her voice tightens again. "Thank you."
Silent again, Ellen inclines her head.
Raven's eyes lift to the door. She considers it for a moment. Eventually she says, "I should go."
"I do have work," Ellen agrees mildly, letting her hands clasp neatly behind her back.
At that agreement, Raven moves to the door without response, posture again stiff and straight. She exits silently.
To lose -- everything --
Nightmare. Nightmare. Cannot imagine, cannot comprehend --
The chill terror of it devours my spirit.
He is right. It is better that none of them know. That none of them discover such a thing possible.
I wish I did not.
The last few weeks have been exhausting (the last few days, in particular). It should come as no real surprise then that Magneto is exhausted, and, in typical fashion, inclined to pretend otherwise, regardless of the fact that no amount of poise is going to hide the circles under his eyes or the pallor of his skin. He does not look healthy, standing in the infirmary with arms folded, and his glare directed absently after an unoccupied bunk. But /he/ is not the problem.
Raven is the problem. She stands behind Erik, expression smoothly blank as she watches straight ahead with a stiff, straight posture.
Ellen may or may not be the solution, but she is, at least, arrived: long legs carrying her at a hurried stride from the lower level, hair bound in a loose tail from which it threatens to escape. She straightens the crisp lines of the labcoat as she lifts her gaze and lets it rake inquiry over her master and apparently her prospective patient.
Erik looks up at the sound of approaching footfalls, Ellen's pace familiar enough that his gaze is expectant before she rounds the entrance. And once she has, the door closes behind her - well-oiled hinges hardly making a sound, though magnetism's force is briefly audible humming through the steel. "Ms. Dramstadt."
Raven does not move, nor does she lift her head to regard Ellen. There's only the brief shifting of her eyes to take in the other woman, the slight adjustment of shoulders as she pulls in a deep breath.
Ellen's glance flicks briefly to the side, catching the closed door out of the corner of her eye, before it slips back again. "Sir." The pale eyes, leeched more grey than blue in the sterile infirmary light, settle upon Raven for brief study; her brows lift slightly. Courtesy guarded and as blank as her expression, she adds, "Ma'am." She lifts a questioning hand. "My services are required?"
Erik chuckles, a tired echo of Ellen's, "Ma'am," murmered to himself as if it's somehow amusing. He manages to filter this out fairly quickly, fortunately, and clears his throat, brows knit back into seriousness. "Mmm. This is one of those things that is going to remain between the three of us."
Raven shifts then, a sharply curious glance to Erik that sends chin-length hair swinging forward to shadow her face.
Ellen cocks her head, curiosity awakening in a sharp sweep of her gaze over Raven and Erik both. "You can rely on my discretion, sir," she is quick to assure, words crisp and even.
"This is Mystique, and has been Mystique for the last..." Erik pauses to arch a brow, "...three days. I would like you to see if you can identify anything unusual that could be the cause."
Raven pulls her head up and her posture straight, gaze set firmly ahead in silence as Erik explains.
Ellen's expression again blanks, this time with surprise. She turns a sharp stare on Mystique -- on Raven -- and bridges the distance between them on slow, measured steps. In silence, she lifts a hand to rest her fingers lightly against the other woman's cheek.
Erik takes a slow step in the opposite direction, glare already wandering blandly away, to the stainless steel of the counter surface. Non-prying, non-interfering.
Raven does not flinch at Ellen's touch. To her credit, she barely moves, simply drawing in a steadying breath and pressing her hand against the denim-clad curve of her hip while Ellen begins to work.
The pale eyes flicker closed and the scan is slow: Ellen prowls amidst Raven's cells, hunting for signs of abnormality. After a long silence, she speaks: "Mystique ... are you familiar with the mechanism that allows your mutation to function?"
Raven's eyes narrow fast at the sound of her name, but she does not otherwise respond to it. Instead she says evenly, "I simply do it." Her voice softens into something terribly and quiet. "Or not."
Erik traces a hand over the smooth steel, listening far more closely than he appears to be when he lifts it a moment later to examine the pads of his fingers. Clean.
"I cannot detect anything immediately wrong with your body on a surface level. You are perfectly healthy," Ellen says, the words fired in a quick clip. "With your permission, an experiment?"
Raven's voice is tight as she replies. "Please."
Erik sniffs at his fingers, testing, perhaps, for traces of some sort of kitchen cleaner, or...oh. The word 'experiment' sinks in, and he half-turns back towards the women with lifted brows. "What sort of experiment?"
Ellen takes Raven's left hand in her own, her right hand still balanced on the curve of her cheek. Closing her eyes again, she focuses the weight and strength of her power on a patch of skin on the back of Raven's hand while she twines their fingers together and presses tight. Before she does anything else, she speaks. "I wish to attempt to forcibly revert her skin to its natural state, sir."
Raven does not bother to wait for Erik's reply. Her own is stiff and forceful as her fingers close around Ellen's. "Do it."
"Hold on." Erik's voice overrides Mystique's, low, even, and not particularly quiet. There is generally no mistaking it for anything other than a direct order. The cabinet is forgotten, and already, he's moving back for the pair.
Ellen goes quite still, but for the opening of her eyes. Silent, she waits.
Raven does not wait. Her fingers tighten in Ellen's while dark eyes blaze up at Erik in silent, angry question.
Raven's glare is met with steel and ice - the stubborn set of Erik's jaw as forceful as it ever is, even if a tremendous lack of sleep has rendered him rather un-imposing overall. "Fine." He states finally, heavily, glare sliding hard over to meet Ellen's gaze. "Carry on. You have my number, should anything go terribly wrong." And off he starts for the door.
Ellen follows him with her glance for a moment and then turns her whole attention to the selected patch of skin on the back of Raven's hand. With intense concentration, she orders the cells in question to revert.
Raven's eyes track Erik's exit with rising emotion, and her voice hinges on something nearly desperate as she repeats, "Do it." As Ellen orders, cells obey, an altogether foreign/familiar feeling on Mystique's part. Her breath rushes out in a disbelieving stream.
Erik is not paying attention. The sound of the door slamming heavily after him marks his exit. A few bits of cement and plaster drizzle down onto the floor from the ceiling.
Ellen opens her eyes and examines the blue patch on the back of Raven's hand, checking visually what her mutation has already informed her of. She says, "Hmm." Then she turns, a worried look shot over her shoulder at the door.
Raven's eyes whip down to stare at her hand with wide, wide eyes. "It worked." Erik and his door slamming are not ignored so much as entirely unnoticed. Her attention is fixed on the single blue patch of her hand.
"Yes," Ellen says, distracted and frowning. Then she turns to look back at Raven again. "Ah ... you still find yourself unable to shift?"
Raven falls silent for a moment's concentration. The blue patch remains. Her expression remains even, her voice once again controlled rather than desperate, and she nods tightly. "Yes."
Ellen is visibly puzzled. "Your mutation is still functional. Your body is healthy."
Raven considers this for the span of a long minute. "My mutation is still functional," she repeats softly. Barely audible. "Something has severed my control."
Ellen swallows. The twitch of her spine is not entirely voluntary. "It would seem so."
Raven lifts her hand to Ellen. Her voice is extremely tight, reluctant, as she requests, "Change it back."
Silent -- wordless -- Ellen lets her eyes close again and does so.
Raven pulls her hand away and slides it deep into a jeans pocket. She watches Ellen in silence, and eventually asks, "There is no physical reason I cannot morph?"
Ellen steps back: one pace. Two. Her hands drop to her sides. "None."
"None." Mystique echoes the word silently and then nods. Her voice tightens again. "Thank you."
Silent again, Ellen inclines her head.
Raven's eyes lift to the door. She considers it for a moment. Eventually she says, "I should go."
"I do have work," Ellen agrees mildly, letting her hands clasp neatly behind her back.
At that agreement, Raven moves to the door without response, posture again stiff and straight. She exits silently.